


this feeling follows me wherever i go

by archetypically



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-01-20 22:31:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12443157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archetypically/pseuds/archetypically
Summary: A collection of prompt fills and other random things originally posted on Tumblr





	1. complacent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i screamed about the leaked _infinity war_ trailer; this is what resulted

Gamora knows that the worst thing anyone can do with Thanos is become complacent.

Once, her standing had always been in question. Survival hadn’t been a guarantee, but rather something she’d had to fight for every minute of every day, even beyond the physical battles. She could never afford to let her guard down, or show so much as one trace of weakness; just one trace, even for a fraction of a second, would have surely spelled her own doom.

Maybe, she thinks, this is what she has let herself become — complacent. Complacent for thinking that the Nova Corps could actually manage to keep something like an Infinity Stone hidden and contained. Complacent for thinking that if Thanos could never find it, there would be no reason for him to assemble the rest. Complacent for opening herself up to a new family, letting her careful guard fall in the closest thing she’s had to a home since she was a child.

The worst thing anyone can do with Thanos is become complacent.

And now, the price she pays for that complacency is fear.

Her body mods can keep her going for a sustained period of time, but even they have their limits; she should sleep while she can, she knows, because she will need every ounce of strength she’s capable of. Sleeping, though, is easier said than done when fear is more than just a shadow that’s lurked at the back of her mind for practically as long as she can remember, but a present and imminent thing.

Eventually, she finds herself standing in the cockpit, looking out on empty space as the _Milano_ continues on autopilot. It’s quiet, peaceful, and usually, she likes it here. Now, however, it makes no difference. She was foolish to think that it would.

The sound of footsteps climbing up the ladder behind her jerks her out of her thoughts, and within seconds, her whole body tenses. It’s excessive and unreasonable, because there’s only one person on this ship who knows about her tendency to come up here. Still, it takes a moment for some of the tension to ease even after Peter comes into view.

There’s silence for a time after he comes to stand beside her. She weighs her options, debating whether it would be better or worse to verbalize the thought that she hasn’t been able to let go of for hours. Saying it won’t change the reality of the situation, won’t make the worst any less likely to come to pass. But:

“I feel like a child,” she tells him, voice quiet and a degree unsteady. Her eyes are fixed firmly in front of her. “Like he will destroy everything I know in front of me again, and there will be nothing I can do to stop it.”

Peter doesn’t immediately say anything in response, by all appearances waiting for her to continue without forcing the issue. (That’s the thing with Peter — he always waits for her, never drags her somewhere she isn’t ready to go.) When she doesn’t, he offers a gentle, “Hey, I get it. Evil psycho dad who wanted to destroy the universe, remember?”

(She remembers, all too often. Even years later, Ego’s planet, what could have happened there, haunts her.)

He opens his arms then, and she goes into them, burying her face in his chest and clutching pieces of his shirt like a lifeline. She feels steadier in that moment, feels less like her feet and everything else in existence will give out from under her. She breathes, just a little. “We got through that,” he says into her hair, solid and confident. “We’re gonna get through this, too.”

More than anything, she wants to believe him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> always taking prompts on tumblr [here](http://stooperman.tumblr.com/ask)!


	2. "i'm sorry, what were you saying? i keep getting lost in your eyes."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> off of [this list](https://lotsofimagines.tumblr.com/post/138822844396/writing-prompts-20) \- “i’m sorry, what were you saying? i keep getting lost in your eyes.” with peter and gamora, aka peter is an idiot

Peter is a capable fighter; there is no questioning that. What he lacks in physical strength he makes up for in a certain resourcefulness, which is a definite asset, something that had caught her off guard the first time they’d fought. He’s quick with his weapon, and is all around someone you would rather have as an ally than not.

Still, his skills could use some work.

That’s what brings them here to the cargo hold one day during a dry spell between jobs, mats spread on an empty corner of the floor. They’ve been at this for hours, but there’s almost no progress to show for it; despite what she tells him, it is never long before she takes him down easily. After about the fiftieth time he ends up on his back, she debates the utility of this entire exercise, wonders if she would’ve gotten farther with Groot and his, at best, wandering attention span.

But they’re not done, even if her patience is steadily being tried. He has yet to learn the most important lesson, the one that could very well save his life, especially if they ever encounter more of her brothers and sisters; she has to make sure that gets through, somehow. She extends a hand to help him up, and tries a different track.

“You’re leaving yourself too open. Too exposed.” She wipes away a stray strand of hair that keeps threatening to fall into her eyes. “In that stance, there are at least five different ways I could incapacitate you within seconds.”

He’s looking at her, but not really at her, and she exhales a tired sigh. “Peter, are you listening to me?”

The dumb, crooked smile on his face is enough of an answer before he ever even opens his mouth. “I’m sorry, what were you saying? I keep getting lost in your eyes.”

Without a beat of hesitation, Gamora kicks him to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> always taking prompts on tumblr [here](http://stooperman.tumblr.com/ask)!


	3. loudly, so everyone can hear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 15\. loudly, so everyone can hear - from [this list](http://stooperman.tumblr.com/post/166510857365/the-way-you-said-i-love-you)

A night out at a bar really doesn’t have much to offer Gamora. Through a combination of her own natural physiology and her body modifications, she metabolizes alcohol too quickly for it to have any effect, and she will always prefer a calmer environment to being among a crowd of raucous drunks.

Still, she’s happy to let everyone else indulge. With how tense things have been recently, they could use it.

She, Groot, and Mantis have long since retreated to a table in the back corner, where Groot continues to eagerly suck down glass after glass of some sugary concoction she is certain she will most likely see again (soon). Drax and Rocket are still heavily involved in a card game with some other patrons a few tables over; Rocket’s attempts at swiping units from the others’ piles are becoming less subtle by the second, and she estimates that it won’t be long before someone notices. And Peter —

For the past hour, Peter has had a captive audience of four lower-level Nova Corps officers hanging on his every word as he regales them with tales of… well, what she assumes is their most recent job. At least, that’s what she is able to gather when Peter’s voice from the other side of the bar starts to be loud enough to register to her as actual words. Which means that, if previous experience is any indication, he will be on the verge of losing consciousness sooner rather than later if he continues drinking at this rate.

Which means, she decides, that it’s time for the night to be over.

“Watch him,” she instructs Mantis then, pushing her chair into the table as she stands. Even she’s not entirely certain whether she _actually_ means Groot or Rocket, but Mantis nods seriously all the same.

(Mantis takes every task she’s given seriously. It’s nice, Gamora thinks, to have an ally sometimes.)

She only spares one glance behind her as she moves across the bar, toward the gathering of people who, by the minute, become more and more likely to be hit in the head by one of Peter’s increasingly enthusiastic gesticulations. As she comes closer, more of the story starts to become clear.

“And then, there it was, coming _straight_ at me. I totally thought for a second, you know, that I might actually die, which would’ve just _sucked_ , man. Lousy end to a lousy day.” He pauses to take a gulp from his drink. “And then, out of nowhere, there’s Gamora, who just takes the thing out with one slice. How awesome is that?! She’s _amazing_ , man, I love her so much…. Uh, hey,” he trails off as he hears her approach and turns toward her.

Without preamble, she takes the not-yet-empty glass from his hand, places it on the counter behind them, and tells him, with a raised eyebrow, “I think you’ve had enough.” He doesn’t protest.

In fact, in that moment, he barely reacts at all, just watches her with a sort of slack-jawed amazement, almost as though he’s seeing light for the first time. With what he’d just said, so casual, confident, and completely sure, still tumbling around in her mind, her breath catches in her throat and something in her chest tightens at the intensity of it. She barely hears his “‘Scuse me,” as he stands and takes her hand in one of his, then (somewhat clumsily) leads her to an empty spot on the floor.

Music starts to filter into her ears, and she wonders if it has truly just started, or if being hyperaware of small details, like the beating of her own heart, has made her only just now start to _notice_. “Dance with me, ” Peter says, voice low, as he pulls her close. “It’s a good song. Totally danceable. Well, okay, I mean, not as good as anything on the Zune. Literally _anything_ — even that one where that guy keeps asking people about the dogs and who let them out. I mean, seriously, dude, you could probably _find_ the freakin’ dogs in the time it takes to ask that, like, ten billion times, and it’s honestly the most annoying thing I’ve ever heard.”

He cuts himself off, then, like he has just enough sense left to know that nothing he’d just said had made any at all, breaking her gaze and shaking his head. “Not what I’m trying to say, not even close to what I’m trying to say. I just…” His eyes find hers again. “I just _really_ wanna dance with you right now.”

It’s all just so earnestly _Peter_ — the rambling, the absurd request, how his hair is somehow sticking up in approximately six different ways, the flush in his cheeks, the emotion in his eyes and voice — that she can’t help the quiet laugh that escapes from her, or the accompanying smile that lingers on her mouth long afterward.

She loves him, too. So much.

“ _One_ dance,” she finally concedes, “and then we’re all going back to the ship.”

The grin that splits his face, pure and unbidden, fills her chest with the kind of warmth that makes her think she actually got to indulge in something tonight after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come send me prompts on tumblr [here](http://stooperman.tumblr.com/ask)!


	4. in secrecy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill from #8 on [this list](https://grey-wardens-dont-have-dental.tumblr.com/post/173395626956/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-i-will-write-a)

“Hey, um,” Peter says when she enters the doorway of their quarters after she lets Rocket relieve her from her watch shift. “I don’t think I’m supposed to see you, you know – the night before.”

Her steps come to a halt, and her brow furrows.

It’s far from unusual for Peter to say things that make absolutely no sense; that’s been as much a fact of her life over the past few years as the necessity of removing Rocket’s access to weapons after a certain number of drinks, or the knowledge that _threatening_ to snap Groot’s game in half doesn’t make him more likely to stop playing it. But, even so, that doesn’t prevent the inevitable –

“What?”

– from coming out of her mouth next.

“It’s, uh – it’s a Terran thing,” he says with a slight roll of a shoulder as he turns toward her. “Tradition. I think I saw it on TV once.”

Silence falls as she waits for him to elaborate. Eventually, it becomes clear that he won’t, and she steps forward, closing the small amount of distance between them. Considers for a moment when she stops. “That seems pointless.”

“Yeah.” He lets out a laugh, one that’s quiet but is the kind that reaches his eyes nevertheless, the kind that makes them crinkle at the corners in the way that she loves; a smile pulls on her mouth, and her heart feels as light as it ever has. “Yeah, I think it kinda is.”

She takes both of his hands in hers, lifts her gaze to meet his directly. “ _But_ ,” she tells him, voice serious enough even if the smile doesn’t quite fade. “If it’s tradition, then I’ll leave.”

He appears to be giving this some thought, because it’s almost a full forty-five seconds before he speaks again. “ _Or_ – I have a better idea.” He presses his lips together. “How about you stay, and we totally don’t have to tell anybody, and it’ll just be our secret –”

He’ll never have the chance to finish that thought, because in that instant, she leans up to kiss him softly, keeping their hands joined as she does.

(Once, Gamora remembers, when she was around four years old, her parents told her the story of how they met, how they eventually married. The details have long since been lost to time, and only impressions remain – the gentle smile on her father’s face as he looked at her mother, their entwined fingers, the way she begged over the next two months, repeatedly, to hear it again.

She’s been thinking of it a lot lately, running through everything that comes to mind, searching for something hidden in the pieces that maybe, just _maybe_ , could be brought to the surface now, could be held onto and carried with her, but what has always been true still is.)

No, she’ll never remember much of what her parents told her, but she _does_ remember the most important thing: they were happy.

And she thinks that, maybe, she’s following tradition well enough.


	5. untitled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Look. These are muscles, too, right? Right?”_
> 
> (written pre-Infinity War)

He’s over it. Really, he is. Like, whatever, Drax had his fun, everyone else had their fun, and they’ve got much bigger things to worry about anyway - Thanos and Infinity Stones and a bunch of stuff he only half understands but knows with one-hundred percent certainty scare the shit out of him.

But - he can’t help it, okay, he can’t help what falls out of his mouth for probably the twentieth time as he pulls a change of shirt over his head: “Were his muscles _really_ that much bigger than mine? Like, okay, he’s a dude with a lot of muscles, I see that, I get that, but I’m a dude with muscles, too!” He walks over toward the bed, where Gamora is currently working on turning down the covers on her side, and points at his own arm. “Look. These are muscles, too, right? Right?”

Gamora, though, only gives him an exasperated sigh when she looks up. Which is, you know, that’s typical, except -

“Peter, if you ask me that one more time, I’m kicking you out.”

Uh, whoa. Excuse him while he stops everything he’s doing for a second and just lets his mouth hang open, because _that_ was totally uncalled for. And excuse him while he does this for another second while he actually comes up with something to say. “You can’t kick me out of my own room!”

“ _Our_ room,” she corrects, totally nonplussed, before turning her attention back to the covers. “Which means I have equal right to do anything I want.”

He opens his mouth to argue, and then he closes it, like, two seconds later, because he thinks - okay, fair, she has a point. This hasn’t really been _his_ room, not for a super long time now, because it’s just as much been _hers_ , _theirs_ , and, yeah, that’s totally how he tends to think of it. _But_ : “Still part my room, which means you can’t kick me out,” he mumbles as he climbs into bed. “Rules are rules.”

If she rolls her eyes (which, he thinks, she probably does), he doesn’t see it, but she’s right behind him like she usually is regardless.

He isn’t stupid enough to think that a stretch of silence actually means she’s gone to sleep (look, if that hasn’t been happening, like, at all for either of them over the past few weeks, it’s _definitely_ not happening now), and sure enough, it isn’t long before she rolls over. “They weren’t that much bigger,” she says, trailing a couple of fingers down his bicep, with a look like she’s super deep in thought. He doesn’t really have time to think about what that might mean, because, soon enough: “But you could afford to work yours a little more.”

And any thought of protest _immediately_ flies straight out of his brain, don’t pass go, don’t collect $200, when he realizes that there’s just the faintest outline of a smile on her mouth. Like, _really_ faint, but definitely there, and -

It’s the first time he’s seen her so much as even try in _weeks_ , and in that moment, he thinks: he would, without question, take every single terrible punchline in the entire universe personally, at his own damn expense, if that would keep her smile alive for, like, even just two more seconds.

But it doesn’t even last that long.

She shifts again, keeps moving around a little until she’s got her head on his chest. “Not that I don’t believe him, because that sounds _exactly_ like Thanos,” she whispers a couple of minutes later. “But if what he’s saying is true….”

It doesn’t escape his notice that she’s got a whole handful of blanket that she’s practically crushing inside of a fist, and - he’s got that feeling again that he’s completely out of his depth. That this terrible, scary thing is happening and it’s completely wrecking her to freaking pieces and he can’t do anything about it.

Not that this is anything profound and not that it isn’t, like, the understatement of the whole freaking century but - this sucks. It really, _really_ sucks.

“I know,” he tells her, voice low and serious, as he runs a hand down her arm. “I know.” He stops at her clenched fist, wrapping his fingers around it and holding on, loose but firm. “But we’ll - we’ll figure it out, okay? You, me, everyone else here who thinks I’m some stupid, boring dude with no muscles….” He feels more than hears her laugh softly against him for a moment before she goes still again, and he lets out a breath. “We’re gonna figure it out.”

And definitely not for the first time, he wishes he could feel at least half as confident as he sounds.


	6. vcr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the prompt "vcr" off of [this list](http://towriteprompts.tumblr.com/onewordprompts). Set post-Avengers 4; vague Infinity War spoilers to be found here.

Missouri, she’s learned, is home to an assortment of strange sounds at night. Crickets, Peter had said when she’d asked, as if that were supposed to explain everything – it hadn’t, of course, but considering Peter, that had hardly been unusual. By their third night here, though, she starts to find something peaceful in the constant chorus of chirping that comes from just outside the guest bedroom window; it’s a pattern, one that she realizes begins at the same time every night and ends at the same time every morning, just before the sun rises, and it’s enough of a reassurance that she manages a few hours of sleep before the dreams start.

The distant _thump thump_ , however, is not, and it wakes her instantly. She tenses, reaching for a weapon that she no longer has.

It takes an entire minute to convince herself that she doesn’t actually need it.

_Thump thump_.

She turns, and it’s then that she realizes that she’s alone. That, also, there’s a sliver of light filtering in from the hallway, and it doesn’t take much to be able to put the pieces together.

She tosses the covers away from her, touches her feet to the floor, and decides to follow it.

Her search doesn’t take her far – just to the set of basement stairs across the hall from the guest bedroom doorway. They creak under her feet as she descends, practically each one more than the next, until she eventually finds –

Peter, surrounded on all sides by boxes and piles upon piles of – things that she can’t quite identify.

He’d obviously heard her coming, because he looks up as she steps down from the final stair, an easy smile on his mouth.

“Hey – sorry. I didn’t mean to, you know….” He trails off there, and gestures aimlessly at the mess around him.

She doesn’t respond to that, instead opting to carefully step her way around the various piles, and crouch down on a free space on the floor next to him. “What are you doing?”

He turns his attention back to the box in his hands, rifling through it for a moment before: “Pops said he put the VCR in one of these boxes somewhere, and I’ve been through, like, twenty of them so far, and nothing.” A pause. “Well, I mean, not _nothing_ , obviously, but – more like everything _except_ the VCR.” There’s some more shuffling, and then he holds a stack of papers out in her direction. “Look at this – even all my stupid second grade report cards! And _still_ no freaking VCR.”

The lettering is as strange and foreign as almost every word he’d just said, but she turns over each individual sheet regardless, scanning the pages for a time as silence falls between them. Eventually, he exhales a shaky sigh, and she sets the stack down beside her on the floor.

He sets his box down, too, and when he does, he won’t quite meet her eyes. “It’s –” he starts, then falters. “It’s the only way I can show you _Footloose_ , okay, because I said I _would_ , and…”

The realization of _why_ this is such an obsession, exactly, is a stab to the gut – swift, deep, profound.

And it twists. Painfully.

“Peter,” she says softly, taking one of his hands in both of hers, rubbing the pad of a thumb over his skin until he looks at her. “It’s okay. You don’t have to.” She knows she doesn’t quite manage the smile she’s trying so hard to give him. “I like how you tell it, anyway.”

He doesn’t look convinced, mostly sad and distant in a way that’s entirely too familiar, but after a moment, he nods. She lets go of his hand and wraps her arms around him instead, pulls him close against her chest and lets the top of his head sit under her chin.

“I love you,” he mumbles into the fabric of her shirt. “So much.”

Her throat is still tight, but she refuses to let any affirmation go unanswered. There isn’t much she can do – for either of them – except this. “I love you, too.”

She feels him relax against her, feels his breath becoming steadier by the second, and as she allows her eyes to close for the moment, she thinks: they’ll be all right. Somehow, they’ll be all right.


End file.
